Krampus: The Yule Lord (40 page)

Reverend Owen watched aghast as the paper streamers landed in the candles perched along the windowsills, amazed at how quickly they caught fire. Whatever materials the Sunday school teachers had used lit up like a fuse. The flaming streamers hit the curtains, the original curtains put up when they’d first moved into the place back in ’68, which, guessing by the way they were starting to blaze, predated any fire codes. In no time they had fires going on both sides of the church.

“FIRE!”
Cindy screamed at the top of her very capable lungs.
“FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!”
People found their senses and began a panicked rush for the exits.

Reverend Owen didn’t move. He stood there, watching the rapidly growing flames, and did something he’d never done before. Within his own church, Reverend Owen took the Lord’s name in vain, not once but over and over again.

O
FFICER ROBERTS HEARD
the shouts and screams from almost a block away. He sped up, taking the last corner hard, shooting into the parking lot of the church. He’d driven over without using his siren and lights, as the chief had instructed, to keep the element of surprise, but watching the people streaming out from the front doors of the church, he didn’t believe it even mattered.

He snatched up his rifle, jumped out of the cruiser, using the car for cover, bracing his rifle across the hood just like they’d taught him at the academy. He was only about thirty yards from the front steps, but it was still hard to tell who was who as he watched figures running to and fro—mere silhouettes in front of the growing flames.

Noel glanced up the street, hoping to see the chief’s cruiser heading his way. Dillard had ordered him to stay back, but folks needed help, things were getting out of hand fast. He hit the mic. “Chief, I’m at the scene. We have an emergency. Please advise.” He waited a few seconds that felt like forever and hit the mic again. “Chief. Copy.” Nothing.
Where was he? What was taking him so long?
Noel changed frequencies, put a call in to the dispatch. “Dispatch, we got a ten . . . a ten . . .” His mind drew a blank, all the codes went out the window. “We got a fire, Methodist church in Goodhope . . . possible dangerous suspects.” He heard his voice rising, racing, forced himself to slow down. “Hell, we got all kinds of trouble! Send fire and rescue . . . let the sheriff know right away!” He got a confirmation that help was en route, then the radio clicked again and Dillard’s calm voice cut through the static. “Just hold on. Cutting across First now. Almost there.”

Noel started to reply, but forgot what he was trying to say, because a towering figure with horns came out of the burning church, towing a Christmas tree behind him and carrying a man over his shoulder. The suspect matched the description, no doubt about that whatsoever. He dropped the man down from his shoulder into the snow. Officer Roberts recognized the man, it was Reverend Owen, he looked confused but okay.

The deputy locked the sight of his rifle on the suspect—the man, or beast, or whatever it was—tried to hold his aim steady. “Oh, good gracious alive! Dillard you better get your ass here and quick!”

A
LOUD THUD
reverberated through the ceiling. Isabel and all the women looked up.

“What the hell’s going on up there?” the woman in the hunting jacket asked.

A moment later they heard screams, cries, and the sound of feet drumming overhead. Isabel had a pretty good guess.
Aw, shit, Krampus. What’ve you done now?

Someone up the stairs screamed
“FIRE!”
—and at that moment smoke began to pour out of the ceiling vents.

“OUT!”
The woman in the hunting jacket yelled.
“The place is on fire! Everyone get out!”

The group of women standing in front of the double doors all turned and rushed for the exit, pushing those closest to it into the doors. And since the doors only opened inward, toward the hallway, this jammed them shut.

“Stop! Wait!”
someone yelled.
“You’re gonna all have to back up
.” It was the woman behind Isabel, the one in the simple dress. She started down the hall toward the wedge of women.
“Stay calm. You must stay calm.”

A few women were trying to pull themselves out of the tangle, but the others, in their panic, only pushed harder. Isabel started forward, intent on pulling the women off one another, when she heard screams coming from behind her.

At least a dozen women had come out of the room at the far end of the hall and were stampeding toward her. Lacy stood right in their path. Isabel scrambled to get to her, but she had no chance. The woman, the one in the dress, grabbed Lacy, shoved her into the shallow door well, the one in front of the locked door. The women drove past. Isabel didn’t see what happened, the next thing she knew she was knocked back down the hall, slammed to the floor, and caught up in the press of grappling bodies.

The air grew dense, the smoke making everyone cough, spurring on the panic. Isabel found herself pinned, struggling to get air in her lungs. She heard her name, a deep, booming call that resonated above the din of screaming, crying women. There came a terrific snapping and splintering of wood, and all at once light appeared at the top of the double doors. There came another snap, more splintering, and a large chunk of the door ripped outward. She saw him then, his glowing eyes and unmistakable silhouette. Krampus wrapped his large hands on the door, let out a roar, and gave a mighty tug. The door frame popped and snapped, one of the double doors broke free, crashing down onto the steps.

And there stood the Yule Lord, tall and terrible, the Belsnickels just behind him. Krampus pulled the women out of the tangle, pushed them up the stairs; the Belsnickels, in turn, lead them out of the death trap.

“Isabel!”
Krampus yelled, his voice frantic.
“Where are you?”

“Krampus!”
She managed to get a hand free and wave. Krampus shoved women left and right, plowing his way to Isabel, grabbed her, and pulled her to her feet.

“Hurry!” he cried, pushing her toward the stairs.

“Wait,”
Isabel shouted. She looked down the dim, smoky hall searching for Lacy. And there she was—in that woman’s arms, the one in the dress. The woman coughed, her eyes streaming with tears, but she held tight to Lacy. Isabel leapt to them, put an arm around both of them, and steered them to the stairs. The last couple of women were stumbling up the steps with the help of Jesse and Chet. Isabel led Lacy and the woman up and out, followed lastly by Krampus.

They came out into the night air. Isabel drew in a deep breath; never had air tasted so sweet. Ash and glowing cinders fell upon the snow, smoke billowed around them. Isabel saw Krampus’s tall, horned figure before the hellish landscape, surrounded by his Belsnickels, and could not help but think of Satan and his host of demons.

“Come,” Krampus called. “Let us find the Yule goats before they stray.” He headed back around the side of the church, followed by the Belsnickels, all of them disappearing into the smoke.

People were gathering in the parking lot. Isabel started to lead the woman and Lacy that way, spotted a police cruiser barreling into the lot, nearly hitting two bystanders. It skidded to a stop beside another cruiser. Isabel halted, dropped to one knee, gave Lacy a quick kiss on the cheek, and hugged her tight. “I gotta go, Lacy. You be good. Okay?”

“You be good, too,” Lacy said and hugged her back.

Isabel stood, clutched the woman’s arm. “Her name is Lacy. Please look after her.” The woman gave her a confused look, but nodded earnestly, picking Lacy up and heading away from the flames. Isabel wanted to watch them go, but tears blurred her vision and she turned back, darting away into the smoke after Krampus.

C
HIEF
D
ILLARD
D
EATON
leapt from his car, almost forgot his shotgun, reached back in, yanked it across the seat.

“Aw, jeez!” Noel cried, running over. “Chief, man, am I ever glad to see—” He stared at Dillard’s face. “Heck, chief, what happened to you?”

“Where are they?” Dillard asked, walking briskly toward the fire.

Officer Roberts jogged to keep up. “Um . . . well . . . hard to say with all the smoke, y’know. They were heading around the side of the building last I saw.”

“I told you not to let them out of your sight.”

“I know, but the sheriff told me to sit tight until backup arrived.”

“What?” Dillard spun on his heels. “The sheriff? You called this in?”

“Well, yeah. Had to. We’re outside the town limit. Outside our jurisdiction.”

“Do I look like I need a lecture on whose jurisdiction we’re in?”

“But the fire. I thought it was procedure to—”

“Shut up. Just shut up!” Dillard almost punched the boy, almost laid him out flat, and wouldn’t that have added an interesting layer to his growing list of troubles. He stepped forward, got right into Noel’s face. “I don’t wanna hear another word about procedure. You go back to the vehicles and wait for the goddamn sheriff to show up. Got that? Don’t you move unless I say so. Got it? Got it?”

Noel nodded and headed back, looking every bit the whipped pup. The truth was Dillard planned on going down there and shooting Jesse dead on sight and he sure as hell didn’t want Officer Boy Scout anywhere near him when he did—didn’t want any witnesses at all.

Dillard heard a distant siren racing their way.
Dammit. Just what I don’t need. Fuck! Gotta find that boy quick-like
. He chambered a round, pushing through the smoke. He spotted footprints in the snow, at least five or six sets, followed them around the back of the building, where they ended in a cluster around a wadded-up newspaper. He found deep ruts and fresh droppings—deer or goat maybe, he wasn’t sure which, only sure that nothing quite made sense. If he’d happened to look up at that moment, he might’ve caught sight of a sleigh pulled by two large goats heading east, toward the hills, but just then flashing lights caught his attention. It was the sheriff, pulling into the parking lot.

Dillard rubbed the bridge of his nose, tried to stifle the growing pain behind his eyes. He suddenly felt very tired, very old. “Gonna be a long night. Gonna be a long fucking night.”

Chapter Sixteen
Horton’s

J
esse watched Krampus stare at the plastic play gym and the handful of toys scattered about the yard of a small ranch home somewhere just south of Whitesville. Krampus had been staring—without a word, without so much as a grunt—at the toys for going on twenty minutes. So long that Jesse began to wonder if he’d planned to get out of the sleigh at all.

The whole crew was quiet, lost in their own thoughts, perhaps contemplating the craziness at the church—or, like him, how they’d ever ended up with this strange, moody creature in the first place. Jesse was quickly losing whatever hope he might’ve held that there’d be a resolution to any of this . . . some path that might lead to a way out.

They’d already visited two homes, both without much incident, but also without much enthusiasm. Krampus had actually walked past a blow-mold Santa without smashing it. Jesse got the impression the Yule Lord was just going through the motions, even his speech to these children had lacked any real passion. Jesse felt he was on a sinking ship with no way to jump overboard. He exchanged a glance with Isabel, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged. Isabel shrugged back. After another long moment, she cleared her throat. “Krampus,” she said in a soft tone. “Maybe we should head on back. Take the night off.”

“Why, what a splendid idea,” Vernon added. “Certainly has my vote.”

Isabel cut him a sharp look.

“What?” Vernon said in a defensive tone. “If Krampus is in one of his intolerable moods, I see no reason why we should all have to suffer along.”

“He is right,” Krampus muttered. “There is no more need. It has all been in vain, I fear. The world does not want to remember, and now it appears . . . I am out of time.”

“Out of time?” Isabel asked. “What do you mean?”

Krampus only shook his head.

“Krampus? What’s going on?”

Krampus looked up the driveway, sighed, grabbed the switches and the sack, and stepped out of the sleigh. “You can join me if you wish. Matters not.” He started up the drive. The two Shawnee jumped out and followed.

Isabel elbowed Vernon. “Could you not be such a jerk?”

“You know,” Vernon said, sounding uncharacteristically terse. “Sometimes you forget that I’m not along for the joy of it. I’m his prisoner . . . his slave. Frankly, I really don’t give a damn what happens to the old goat.”

Chet nodded. “Amen, brother.”

“Well, some of us do,” Isabel said, slipping out, chasing Krampus and the Shawnee up the drive. Jesse looked at Vernon and Chet, shrugged, and followed after Isabel, catching up with them as they gained the porch.

Krampus reached for the door handle and froze. He let out a gasp. Jesse followed his eyes to the steps, saw nothing more than two pairs of shoes, started to ask what the matter was, then looked again.